


it is most mad and moonly

by witching



Series: love is more [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Asexuality Spectrum, Begging, Come Eating, Comeplay, Dom/sub Undertones, Domestic Fluff, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Heart-to-Heart, Kissing, M/M, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Nonbinary Martin Blackwood, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), Sex Talk, Sweet/Hot, Tender Sex, Tenderness, Trans Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, blink and you miss it jmtcu :-)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:22:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26868862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witching/pseuds/witching
Summary: "When Jon awakes, it's with the distinct feeling of unfinished business, like he’s forgetting something that’s not quite urgent, but certainly important. He blinks the sleep from his eyes, takes in the hazy sunlight streaming in through the crack in the curtains, and shifts in place, feels the secure circle of Martin's arms tighten around him in response to the movement, pulling him closer, and –oh, right."
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: love is more [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1959904
Comments: 12
Kudos: 219





	it is most mad and moonly

**Author's Note:**

> bitches will write lengthy tonally inconsistent gender/sexuality conversations as a bit of pregaming before the foreplay starts bc they strive for realism and characterization more than streamlined smut (which also has its merits and is not a bad thing!)  
> it's me i'm bitches  
> yeah they get into it a little bit and idc maybe it's "cringe" to write characters having honest open discussions of their gender identities but it's also consistent w my real life experience and my hopes for how others would consider my identity in a situation like this. i'm neurodivergent and i don't know how to take things as a given i need it to be brought up. idk why i'm defending myself but that's the whole ted talk.  
> CW: very brief discussion of disordered eating (in the narration, not dialogue)  
> hmu on tumblr @mag22 or twt @lesbomartin mwah

_love is more thicker than forget  
_ _more thinner than recall  
_ _more seldom than a wave is wet  
_ _more frequent than to fail  
_ _it is most mad and moonly  
_ _and less it shall unbe  
_ _than all the sea which only  
_ _is deeper than the sea_

// e.e. cummings

* * *

When Jon awakes, it's with the distinct feeling of unfinished business, like he’s forgetting something that’s not quite urgent, but certainly important. He blinks the sleep from his eyes, takes in the hazy sunlight streaming in through the crack in the curtains, and shifts in place, feels the secure circle of Martin's arms tighten around him in response to the movement, pulling him closer, and – _oh, right._ There's the unfinished business, pressing against his backside, hard and hot and insistent. The previous night comes flooding back to him and a surge of want rushes through his veins, making him squirm slightly against the solid warmth of Martin's body.

At that, Martin moves almost reflexively to press a gentle kiss to the back of Jon's neck. "Morning, love," he murmurs, voice thick with sleep and dripping with affection. He stirs against Jon, then freezes suddenly, inhaling a muted half-gasp. "God, I'm sorry," he says, immediately scrambling to extricate his limbs from Jon's and move away from him. "Sorry, sorry."

Frowning and shushing him sympathetically, Jon captures Martin's hand in his own as he tries to pull it away, intertwines their fingers and takes in a deep breath through his nose. Martin is soft and warm and he smells like safety, like sleep, like the musk of the cabin and its deeply-set dust. Jon bestows a small kiss on his knuckles before looking up at his face, eyes wide and round and earnest.

"Don't be sorry," he mumbles, his lips moving against Martin's skin. "Stay, please stay with me."

Martin rather abruptly stops trying to escape, leverages himself up on one hand and pulls his head back to give Jon a quizzical look, eyebrows raised and full lips pouting in confusion. Jon turns his head to look up at him, to see his sleep-mussed hair and drowsy eyes and the anxious little furrow between his brows. He looks beautiful, absolutely angelic, and Jon beams at him, basking in the glow of his presence and the sight of his face.

"Hi," he whispers like a confession, then clears his throat and continues slightly louder. "Erm, you can – you don't _have_ to stay, I mean, if you're uncomfortable, I'm not – forcing you to stay, of course. But I do – want you."

"Want me… to stay?" Martin asks breathily, his tone making it sound like a rhetorical question, possibly even a flat statement. Like he knows the truth of it and only wants Jon to confirm his meaning.

"Yeah, that too," Jon agrees, and then he sits up a bit, looks Martin in the eye with a heated intent, lowers his voice to a velvet purr. "But what I meant was... I _want_ you."

Martin blinks at him, confused, and tries to stifle the hopeful gleam in his eye, as well as the slight amusement at Jon’s attempt at being alluring – even as effective as it is, it’s still a bit absurd. Surreal. 

"You what?" Martin croaks, half convinced he’s dreaming. "You don't mean that."

Pushing himself up further, Jon offers a reassuring smile, brushes another soft kiss along the back of Martin's hand. "Of course I mean it," he murmurs, his brows drawn up in concern. "If you’re not ready, that’s absolutely fine, of course I wouldn’t want to rush you into anything. I know this is all new and everything, but I just – I’ve wanted you for so long, it just feels like the right thing to do."

The jut of Martin's lower lip as he thinks over the notion is, for a moment, the only thing in the universe that Jon can bring himself to care about. It's so full and delicious and tempting, he loses his breath and has to compose himself all over again before he can even process that Martin is speaking to him.

He tunes in just as Martin is babbling, "I love you to the end of the world, you know? No matter what. You don't have to – we don't have to do anything – or even _talk_ about it, I mean, if you don't want to. Just because I'm – you know – my... _state_ doesn't mean that you have to do anything you're not comfortable with. I can deal with it myself."

It’s all over the place, Martin stammering around the issue, reluctant to say anything that might offend or upset Jon, an echo of their old relationship that lingers even now. Luckily, Jon does comprehend the gist of what Martin is saying, despite the scattered, rambling nature of it. "No, I know. I know," he assures Martin easily, squeezing his hand to comfort him and calm him down a bit. "I _do_ want to. I thought I made that fairly clear, but just for the avoidance of all doubt: I want to have sex with you."

"Oh," Martin breathes, his lips parted so invitingly. "Then yeah, I mean. I'm not opposed to – to talking about it."

"Alright, let me tell you how I'm feeling about this, alright?" Jon watches Martin's face carefully, waits for him to nod his assent before continuing. "I generally don't engage with people sexually," he begins, slow and diplomatic, "but that doesn't mean I can't, or won't. And sometimes I do have those desires, either as a simple physical urge or as a longing for intimacy with a specific person. And I want it with you, for both of those reasons."

Martin narrows his eyes, frowning in that pouty way that he does when he wants so badly to be self-sacrificing and someone isn't letting him do it. Jon looks forward to seeing that face a great many times, continuing to discourage it, giving Martin everything he has and showing him how much he deserves it all.

"Are you sure, though?" Martin asks, his voice all high and nervous.

"Yes, Martin," Jon sighs, long-suffering and fond, taking Martin's hands in his. "You're the most beautiful man I've ever met, inside and out, and I would like nothing more than to learn your body and make you feel good. I know what I'm asking for, and I mean it with every fiber of my being."

Still hesitant, Martin chews on his lower lip, stays quiet for a long time, squeezing Jon's fingers every few seconds to reassure them both. Jon sighs eventually, clearly struggling to keep the exasperation out of his tone and his expression, to school it into fondness and gentle amusement. No reason to give Martin more reasons to deny him or question his intentions.

"Martin,” he murmurs, “I'm willing to beg, if that's what it takes."

Martin makes a strangled noise like he's swallowing his tongue, takes a moment to cough and clear his throat and swallow hard. "Oh," he replies, strained and high and breathless. "I don't think I'll need _quite_ that much convincing, but if you wanted to... do that... it – it certainly wouldn't hurt."

Jon's face lights up with equal parts hope and intrigue, his eyebrows shooting up as he eyes Martin up and down. He’s thrown, but happily so, a rush of heat pulsing through his core at the flush of Martin’s face and his wide eyes, the clear excitement on his face making Jon even more eager. "You want that?" he asks, biting his lower lip enticingly. "Want me to get on my knees for you and beg for your cock? Does that turn you on?"

It's silent for a moment while Martin catches his breath, blinks several times as if to convince himself he's not dreaming. "As if I'm not turned on enough already," he says in a choked voice. "But… _yeah,_ I'd like nothing more than to hear that."

Jon smiles at that, sinks to his knees beside the bed without hesitation, looks up at Martin with a pure and shining reverence beaming from his every pore. "Please," he says, all airy and sultry. "Please, Martin, I want it so badly. I need it. It felt so big and hard against me and I want it, I want it inside me, please."

Breaths coming in shallow and thin, Martin gives a small, jerky nod. "You have no idea how much I've dreamed of this."

Humming thoughtfully and tapping his index finger on his chin, Jon smiles as he stands to join Martin on the bed again. "I do, actually," he says under his breath, aiming for casual and missing by a mile.

The sound of Martin’s breathing stops abruptly, his back going ramrod-straight and his face paling. "What do you mean?"

Jon looks sheepish, cheeks heating up rapidly as he averts his eyes. He nearly chickens out of explaining himself, but he thinks about the payoff, about his intended endgame here, and knows that talking about this will go a long way in getting him there. He takes a short breath and blows it out through his teeth before speaking. 

"I Know, er... _everything_ you've thought about me, more or less."

Martin's eyes go wide, a strangled yelp escaping him. "Oh. Oh, my God. You... what? Since when? How much? What did you… shit. I'm sorry, Jon, I'm _so_ sorry, fucking hell."

Jon only shakes his head in reassurance, blankets Martin’s hand with his own, continues in a soothing tone and looking Martin in the eyes to drive home the fact that he’s so very far from upset about it. 

"I think I probably _could've_ known a lot earlier," he begins to explain, "but it wasn't until one of my worst days, when you were – you know, with Peter – when I started, er. Fantasizing about you. More than ever before, I mean." 

He bites his lip at the memory, a deep surge of desire rushing through him, making him lightheaded and forcing him to take a deep breath to steady himself. "And then it was a few days after that when I realized that they weren't... _my_ fantasies. They were yours, and I was just – missing you so much that I guess I reached out unconsciously."

It’s a heady revelation, and Martin gives a slow nod, pressing his lips together and avoiding Jon's eyes as dozens of possible scenarios run through his mind of things that Jon might have seen. He can't say anything, mortified as he is, but fortunately, Jon keeps talking to fill the silence. Or rather unfortunately, considering how effectively it exacerbates the whole mortification factor. 

"As for what I saw... well. I saw a lot of things," Jon tells him, a little smile playing on his lips even as he struggles to get the words out through his own instinctive shame. He swallows hard and presses on, encouraged by the thought of how his words will affect Martin. "You taking me over my desk, or yours. Holding my hair and fucking my throat. Hands on my hips, helping me fuck myself on your cock."

"Oh, God," Martin groans, dragging a hand down his face. "I'm so sorry."

"Martin, darling, no," Jon coos reassuringly, brushing his fingers along Martin's cheek, catching his gaze and holding it for a long moment, just taking him in and relishing the privilege of looking at him. "Sweetheart, I liked it. I _loved_ it. I touched myself every night for months, thinking about you like that."

"Oh, _God,"_ Martin repeats, unable to say pretty much anything else at this point.

"Not just back then, either. I want that," Jon continues in earnest, giving Martin an imploring look. "Any of it. All of it. I want to make you feel good. I want to watch you come. I just want _you,_ Martin, I want you so badly it hurts."

Martin squeezes his eyes shut and squeezes his legs together, his tongue darting out to wet his lips briefly. "Right. Right. Alright. This is sort of a lot."

"I'm sorry," says Jon, hasty in his need to make Martin comfortable. "We don't have to do anything, if you're not ready, if it's too much. I only want to do what will make you happy."

"No, I want to," Martin rushes to say, as if Jon might take the offer off the table if he seems too reluctant about it. "I really, really want to. It's just like - someone hands you everything you've ever wanted on a silver platter and then literally _begs_ you to eat it... you have to take a minute to appreciate it, or – or come to terms with it, you know?"

"Sure, sure," Jon nods amiably, "makes sense. Do you want to –"

Practically bouncing in his place, Martin cuts him off before he can finish the thought. "Okay, I've come to terms with it. I’m down," he chirps, then takes a deep breath before continuing. "I think we have to talk a bit more first, though.”

Jon smiles wide and bright at him, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “Absolutely, whatever you want. Whatever you need.”

“I just want to be sure that this is all… alright?” Martin cocks his head to the side and frowns, that little dip forming between his brows. “I mean, I know you’ve got – a complicated – situation… God, I’m being so bloody stupid, I’m such a fucking idiot, but I’m trying to say – I’ve got a… similar situation?”

“You're not an idiot. You…” Jon frowns, his brow furrowed deeply, and gnaws on his lip for a long, quiet moment before he gets what Martin is talking about. “Oh! You mean - yes. I had wondered here and there, but it never seemed appropriate to ask.”

“Jon, you could’ve asked me anything, and I’d have just been glad you were talking to me,” Martin chuckles under his breath.

“Well, I know that _now,”_ Jon snarks without much rancor. “But I didn’t want to come off like your pushy boss asking overly personal questions about your gender identity. And I also couldn’t find a way to bring it up without mentioning Tim, which would have been a whole can of worms.”

Martin nods, giving a small, sad smile at the mention of Tim’s name. “Yeah,” he replies quietly. “Anyway, the thing is, I really should have brought this up last night, but I was being selfish. It’s just that it’s such a complicated topic, and it’s always so awkward to talk about it. But - you know, I'm not _entirely_ a man, but I do consider myself a gay man, and I need to be sure that you’re comfortable with that.”

Jon’s eyebrows draw up and together, his eyes going wide and soft. “Oh, right. Of course. No, my gender identity doesn’t preclude engaging with people who are exclusively attracted to men, not when I know you understand the nuance of the label. And _especially_ not when I’m dreadfully, horribly in love with you.”

There’s a beat where Martin can only stare, melting at Jon’s words and wondering at his tremendous luck. His eyes linger on Jon’s, and it hits him in another overwhelming wave, impossible to ignore. “You’re so cute,” he says, then presses a small kiss to the center of Jon’s forehead, pulling back with a grin. “Every time you open your mouth, something adorable comes out, it’s amazing.”

Jon’s nose scrunches up and he turns his head into his shoulder, proving Martin’s point even as he tries to object. “You don’t have to say that,” he mumbles bashfully.

Without hesitation, Martin reaches out to gently cup Jon’s cheek, to turn his face forward and look into his eyes before leaning in to kiss him, sensual and intimate. “Why shouldn’t I?” he whispers as he pulls back, relishing the way Jon’s cheek heats up even more under his touch. “It’s the truth. I could listen to you talk about nuanced labels for hours.”

“I’d rather not,” Jon replies sardonically, brushing off the soft sincerity of the moment in favor of a practiced stoicism. Best to show it off now, he thinks, because once they get into it he won’t be able to do much in the way of wit. “I think we’ve more pressing matters to tend to.”

Martin arches an eyebrow at him. “Like?”

“Sex,” Jon tells him matter-of-factly. “Preferably, you fucking me into the mattress.”

“Can I just say –,” Martin cuts himself off with a sharp inhale, shakes his head and takes a moment to gather himself before continuing, “those fantasies you were talking about – those were... on some of _my_ worst days, that's what I thought about. Most of my fantasies about you weren't like all that."

"Oh, I know," Jon says, a sly glint in his eye. He leans in, lowers his voice and rubs his thumb along the back of Martin’s hand as he murmurs close to his ear, "I know how you daydreamed about pinning me up against the shelves in the archives and kissing me silly. And how you wrote of your thinly veiled erotic desire, couched in flowery language, waxing poetic about _making love_ and _the union of our bodies_ and the way you thought I would taste."

"Jon," Martin says rather urgently, his voice cracking just a bit, "if you don't shut up, I'm going to come in my pants."

"Flatterer," Jon shoots back with a cheeky grin. "So, what would you like right now?"

Martin hesitates, gnaws at his lip for a moment, before peeking up at Jon through his thick lashes. "Honestly? I'd really like to go down on you. Now that you've mentioned the thing about, erm... tasting you. I've always wanted to."

Lips pressed together in a tight line to suppress a mischievous smile and a doubtful frown all at once, Jon hums, gives a slow nod. "Comparatively rather tame," he points out, "given some of the things I've seen. But I certainly won't turn it down."

A small smile creeps up on Martin's lips. "Jon love, I'm still not over the embarrassment of knowing that you know I have feelings for you. We can work up to everything else, yeah?"

"Of course, dear," Jon murmurs in reply, moving in close as he speaks. "Now, will you undress me, please?"

"Of course, dear," Martin answers easily, a soft smile playing on his lips. He brings his hands up to Jon's chest, fingertips dancing lightly along his ribs as he pulls Jon in close. 

The slide of his broad palms down the sides of Jon's torso is warm and dry and gentle, a feather-light caress over Jon's scarred skin until he reaches the fabric of his pants.

Jon gasps at that, just a quiet inhale as he watches Martin's fingers stroke the place where the pants end and bare skin begins. Martin is taking his time, savoring the feeling of Jon's skin under his hands, but he eventually makes his way to the drawstring at the front, undoing the knot with one deft motion. He slips his fingertips under the waistband and squeezes gently, prompting Jon to lift his hips so Martin can slide the pants down over his ass and toss them aside.

With Jon laid out beneath him, naked and pliant and on display, Martin can't stop himself from taking a moment to admire the view. He wraps his strong hands around Jon's thighs, not too firmly, just feeling and looking his fill. Jon's body is covered in coarse, dark hair, thicker in some spots than others, peppered with grey in places, gorgeous all over.

Martin releases a small sigh, his lips parted in awe at the very concept of having Jon here like this, not to mention the reality of it. He feels the muscles of Jon's thighs tense under his touch, squeezes reassuringly in response, lets his eyes travel up and down the length of Jon's body. Jon is all but trembling, eyes wide and wondering as he watches Martin with a focused reverence.

Jon is too skinny – not naturally, not at all, but from years of neglecting his body's needs, hyperfocusing on his work or his latest obsession and never eating as much as he should; even since he's grown to be fueled more by statements than human nourishment, his body hasn't gotten the memo. Martin wonders wistfully if feeding him would make a difference. Not that he wants him to put on weight for the sake of it, of course, Jon's body is perfect and Martin wouldn't dream of changing a thing, except to think that Jon could stand to look healthier, happier. Taken care of.

As if in response to the thought, Jon squirms slightly under Martin's hands, attempts to arch into his touch. Martin coos at him softly, petting his hip, and leans down to kiss him deep and warm, slipping his tongue between Jon's lips with an unhurried air about him. He stays there for a while, just exploring Jon's mouth with his tongue, soft lips on lips, one hand resting on Jon's waist while the other moves up to cup his jaw.

Leaning up into the kiss, Jon has to shift position to rest his weight on one elbow, giving him the leverage to twist the fingers of his other hand into Martin's curls. He lets out a small noise, half moan and half whimper, as he sucks Martin's lower lip into his mouth. His eyes squeeze shut, which Martin sees because his own eyes are wide open, taking in every second with as much of himself as possible, memorizing the sensations and the sounds. Jon is hot and sharp beneath him, teeth and ribs and elbows digging lightly into various parts of his flesh, not hard enough to really hurt or cause protest.

When Martin pulls away, lips reddened and swollen, Jon finally looks up at him with heavy-lidded eyes and ruddy cheeks. He looks as if he wants to say something, but Martin can't restrain himself long enough to find out what it is.

"You're the most wonderful man in the world," he whispers, breath hot against Jon's lips. "Don't disagree with me," he adds quickly, foreseeing Jon's reflexive urge to brush off a compliment. "You're brilliant. You're brilliant and sexy and I love you. And now I'm going to make you feel it."

"God, please, Martin, _please,"_ Jon whines wantonly, bucking his hips up against nothing but the solid warmth of Martin's thigh.

Martin smiles, slides down the length of Jon's body in one fluid motion. "Mm, is this what you want, love?" he purrs, looking up from between Jon's legs. "Want my tongue, yeah?"

"Yes, yes, please," Jon answers quickly, impatiently.

"On you? In you? Tell me what you need," Martin says, calm and firm, his eyes burning. "You have to be specific, Jon."

For a moment, Jon only quirks an eyebrow at him, then huffs out a groan of frustration, lets his head fall back against the pillows. "Do you enjoy being cruel, Martin?"

"I do like to see you squirm," Martin replies with a wry smile, "but no. I just want to make sure we're communicating, is all. Seeing as it's the first time and everything, and we didn't really – _discuss_ it all that much, and I just – I don't want to fuck it up. So, at least to start off with, I won't do anything unless you explicitly request it. Unless you'd rather call it off now and try again later, when we've had more time to get comfortable with it."

"I'm quite comfortable, thank you," Jon murmurs. His cheeks are hot and dark, his eyes wide, and he catches his lower lip between his teeth for a moment before continuing. "Just in the interest of communication, you should know that this take-charge attitude is an incredibly attractive look on you. I'd like to _explicitly request_ that you keep that up."

"Really?" Martin flushes and glances away bashfully before seemingly remembering himself, clearing his throat and looking back up at Jon's face. "I can do that," he says, voice gentle and smooth and verging on dangerous. "You could use a firm hand, couldn't you, Jon? Can't just sit back and let yourself be taken care of, you need someone to _make_ you do it?"

Jon has to take a moment to catch his breath, knocked out of him by the sheer force of his arousal at Martin's words. "Yeah," he mumbles eventually, strangled and high-pitched. "God, Martin, please – you can tell me what to do and I'll do it, just – _please_ touch me."

"Yes, love, I've got you, don't fret yourself," Martin soothes as he rubs his thumb ever so lightly up and down Jon's folds. "Oh Jon, you're wet for me."

Jon hums, a needy sound from the back of his throat, and attempts to shift his hips down. "You turn me on," he mutters, a hint of strain creeping into his tone with his stating the obvious, which could be plausibly denied but for the soft whine that comes next. "Come on, don't tease me, Martin. I need you inside me, please."

Martin leans in at last, presses a soft kiss to Jon’s mound before moving lower. He spreads Jon open with his fingers, exposing his slick hole and pausing to admire the view for a moment before diving in. He brings his left hand up to rest on Jon's hip, thumb rubbing a reassuring pressure into the sharp bone, while his right hand holds Jon open for his enjoyment.

Finally, Martin leans down and licks up the length of Jon's dick, engorged and standing proud of his folds. It twitches on his tongue, a delightful little jump that pulls a breathy moan from Martin. He brings the tip of his index finger to Jon's entrance, pressing lightly as he pulls back to look up at Jon's face.

"Do you want my fingers?" he asks, his voice low and rough with arousal.

"Please," Jon whines, shifting his hips down and pressing into Martin's touch. "Please, Martin, I need you to fill me."

Martin obliges him, sliding his finger inside in one slow, smooth motion, eased by the wet of Jon's arousal. He crooks his finger when it's fully inside, then pumps it in and out as he takes Jon's cock between his lips again and sucks gently, swirling his tongue around it. Jon moans openly and bucks into his mouth, one hand winding into Martin's hair and the other coming to rest atop Martin's hand on his hip.

Alternating between sucking and licking Jon's cock, Martin works him up quite efficiently until he decides it's time to fuck him with two fingers. He pulls away for a minute, petting Jon's stomach soothingly to calm his protests as he reaches to rummage in the bedside table, searching for – 

"Perfect," he hisses triumphantly when he finds a bottle of lube, not hesitating to spread it on his fingers. "Knew it was a good idea to unpack right away."

"Thank you for that," Jon replies drily, wiggling his hips and spreading his thighs in invitation. 

Martin laughs and shakes his head, curls bouncing as he settles between Jon's legs again. Returning to his comfortable position, he wraps his lips around Jon's cock again and bringing his two lubed fingers up to press inside him. He scissors them to spread Jon's hole, moving down to dip his tongue inside between his fingers before moving back up to lap at his dick.

When he adds a third finger, Jon lets out a long, breathy moan, clenching down and tightening his hold in Martin's hair. "Oh, fuck," he whines, "that's good, I'm so close. Harder, fuck me harder, please."

Lips quirking up against Jon's heated, sensitive skin, Martin hums his assent and tongues between his folds. He licks enthusiastically from the place where his fingers are buried inside Jon's hole all the way up to his cock again, dragging the tip of his tongue up the length of it before engulfing it in the wet heat of his mouth. 

Sucking hard, Martin fucks his fingers into Jon's hole hard and deep, drawing Jon's orgasm from him with wanton little whimpers. Jon's thighs tense up, his whole body going taut as he shakes through it, a series of long, whining moans bubbling up from his throat. He moves his hips in little circles to grind down against Martin's tongue until the wave of his orgasm edges into overstimulation.

When Martin pulls away and eases his fingers gently out of him, Jon's body goes limp, melting into the bed beneath Martin's reassuring weight. Martin pushes himself up and sits back on his heels, a blissed-out smile on his face. Jon's slick is shining on his skin, and he licks his lips before taking his fingers into his mouth slowly, sucking hungrily until the taste of Jon's juices is gone. His eyes flutter closed with a deep, indulgent sigh, and Jon just watches in wonder until Martin is satisfied.

There’s a long beat of anticipation, then Martin plants his hands on the bed over Jon’s shoulders and leans in close to his face. The look in his eyes makes Jon’s insides burn something fierce, all tender and warm and content, but still with the spark of desire. Jon acts on impulse, pulls Martin down into a kiss injected with as much passion as he can muster.

Martin hums pleasantly into the kiss, swiping his tongue along the seam of Jon’s lips and licking into his mouth with firm, unhurried movements. Jon eagerly sucks Martin’s tongue into his mouth, letting his hands settle on Martin’s waist to hold him tight and close. He’s breathing heavily, huffs of air from his nose as they kiss, a few of his exhales coming out as low moans as he tastes himself on Martin’s tongue, nips gently at Martin’s lower lip, smiles against Martin’s mouth when he gets a satisfying reaction.

After a time, the kiss devolves into whimpering moans, Martin thrusting against Jon's leg while Jon attempts to grind on him. Jon reaches to circle Martin's waist with his arms, pulling the full weight of Martin's body down onto himself, and Martin leans into it, slotting his thigh between Jon's legs and rocking down rhythmically. He pulls away from the kiss eventually, lips tingling, and finds himself lost in the depth of Jon's eyes and the mingling of their breaths for a moment. 

Jon's the one who breaks the tension, exhaling a deeply contented sigh and licking his lips before leveling Martin with a heated look. "I want your cock," he murmurs, casual as anything. "Want you inside me. Please."

Closing his eyes and taking a long, shaky breath, Martin nods his head slowly and composes himself before pushing himself up and sitting back on his heels. He swallows hard and rests his hands on Jon’s thighs, gasping softly when Jon immediately spreads his legs further in response.

"Condom?" Martin asks simply, quirking his head to the side. 

"Don't need it," Jon assures him without missing a beat. "Unless you want one. But I'm all – I haven't slept with anyone in a few years, and I can't get pregnant."

"Right," Martin nods, clearing his throat with a hint of awkwardness. "I haven't slept with anyone since… since Tim. And nobody before him for a while."

"Yeah, me too," Jon laughs gently to himself. "I forgot that we were both… at the same time, for a minute there. Funny. But at least we know his deal."

Martin nods his head again, slow and somber, before perking up and pushing forward. "So, you want… want me to. Yeah?"

Smiling and craning his neck, Jon plants a kiss on Martin's head, the angle awkward but the sentiment clear. "Yes," he confirms with an air of finality. "I want to feel you. You don’t have to… inside, if you’re not comfortable with it, I just want to feel you."

“Say that again. Tell me more,” Martin whispers, simple and plain. Not an order, but a firm request. “I love your voice, you know, no matter what you’re saying, but… fuck. If you’d said any of this stuff to me a year ago, I’d have lost my mind.”

“And now?” Jon asks coyly, peeking at Martin through his lashes.

“Well, now… now I can actually do something about it,” Martin replies with a shrug. “And I plan to. Do a lot, in fact.”

His thighs tensing under Martin’s large hands, Jon whines softly, quickly followed by a choked moan coming unbidden from his throat. “You’re teasing me,” he pouts, a gentle furrow between his brows. “You keep saying it, but you’re not _doing_ it.” 

In the quiet pause after Jon speaks, Martin only raises an eyebrow at him, saying nothing. It takes a moment, but Jon wriggles and huffs out a frustrated breath when he gets it. “I don’t understand how you aren’t sick of hearing me talk, honestly,” he grumbles under his breath, “but if that’s what you want… you know I’ll do it, for you. Tell you all about the things I thought of when you were keeping yourself away from me, when I would have given anything to get my hands on you. Used to get off under my desk, hoping you’d walk in on me and finish me off yourself.”

"Oh, Jon…" Martin sighs sadly before trailing off, eyes wet. "You know I wanted to. I mean, not – I wanted to do that too, of course, but I just mean that I wanted to – be near you. I missed you."

"I missed you, too," Jon murmurs, all tenderness. “But we’re together now, so please, will you fuck me? Show me how much you missed me. Show me I'm yours."

Martin has to close his eyes for a moment to overcome the wave of feeling and the gut-punch arousal that hits him with Jon's words. He takes a deep breath before leaning over Jon's torso, the plush warmth of his body blanketing Jon as he presses a line of kisses up the line of his jaw to the spot below his ear. Pausing there, he sucks on the sensitive skin until he's sure a mark will form, reveling in the taste of him, the salt of his sweat and his underlying humanity pulling a contented hum from Martin’s chest. 

"How could I resist an offer like that?" he whispers hotly in Jon's ear, then traces his tongue gently along the shell of it. "You _are_ mine, you know. Finally, really mine. Fuck, I've wanted you so badly, _so_ badly, Jon."

As Jon pants in response, clutching at Martin's shoulders desperately, Martin drizzles some more lube on his fingers, reaches down between their bodies to take his cock in hand, slathering the shaft with lube in preparation. When he's properly slicked up, he presses his forehead to Jon's cheek, pauses to take in the moment.

"I love you so much, Jon, you know? Do you know how much you mean to me?" he says, voice like velvet, and lines up the head of his cock at Jon's entrance. "Fuck, I can’t believe this is really happening. Are you alright? You ready for me?"

With a small hum of an affirmative, Jon gives several frantic nods of his head, desperate and rendered nearly speechless. Martin groans softly, squeezes the base of his cock to relieve some of the pressure, and starts pushing inside, slow and steady, sliding in with an inexorable pressure, a delicious stretch. Jon moans openly at the sensation, clenching down around him, tight and hot and perfect. 

"Perfect," Martin breathes in a voice full of wonder, "you're absolutely perfect."

Jon makes a sound halfway between a skeptical hum and a frustrated whine, throws his forearm across his eyes. "I am not," he protests weakly. 

Clucking his tongue, Martin takes his hand from between their torsos to hold his weight on the bed, wrapping the strong fingers of his free hand around Jon's wrist to pull his arm gently away from his face. "Hey, hey, none of that," he coos. "Let me see you. I've thought about this for so long, how your face would look when you're all worked up for me, when I make you come. I want to see it for real now."

With a soft whine, Jon allows Martin to move his arm with no resistance. The sight of Martin's face makes it more than worth it, with his round cheeks and sparkling eyes and shining smile. Jon gives him a shy smile and Martin dips down to kiss him again, slow and tender, sliding his tongue against Jon's in long, languid strokes. Groans and whimpers are caught between them, swallowed by the collision of their lips and teeth.

When he breaks the kiss, Martin murmurs hot against Jon's lips, "You feel so good, babe, so amazing." He pauses, then adds in an awestruck tone, "God, I’ve wanted this for so long."

"Me too," Jon nods in agreement. "Feels good, Martin, _ah_ –" he cuts off with a choked groan when Martin grinds up into him, his cock throbbing as it drives that much deeper. "Please, I want you to move. I want you to fuck me."

“Yeah, love, I’ve got you,” Martin soothes, a soft moan escaping him as he draws his hips back, his cock sparking every nerve inside Jon. He pushes back in gently, shallowly, and then pulls out a little further, pressing a warm kiss to Jon's lips before rocking his hips forward once more. It's an easy, steady pattern for a minute, quiet but for the breaths and soft sighs of pleasure as Martin increases the depth of each thrust until he’s worked up to a decent rhythm.

Jon gets into it as well, moving his hips in little circles to push himself further down on Martin's cock, small whimpers coming from his throat each time Martin bottoms out inside him. He can't tear his eyes from Martin's face, can't think of anything but the warmth of his eyes and the taste of his lips and the unfathomable intensity of his love. 

"You're doing so well, love," Martin pants against Jon's temple, his voice as soft as rain. "Fuck, you feel so hot and tight on my cock, and you take it so well. So good for me, you're so good."

Jon lets out a feeble whimper, his hands grasping at Martin's hips, squeezing the rolls of soft flesh tight in time with his thrusts. "Martin," he sighs, his hot breath dancing along Martin's skin and making him shiver. He turns his head to the side, attaches his lips to Martin's neck and sucks greedily, swiping his tongue over the blooming mark there, pressing down to pull a groan from Martin's throat. 

"Fuck," Martin curses under his breath, thrusting in hard and deep. "Yeah, that's good, babe, just like that." 

Jon whines again, his walls tightening around Martin's cock as he shifts his hips down to meet Martin's motion. "Can I touch you?" he asks, plaintive and desperate. "I mean, your. I want to… _mm,"_ he cuts himself off, both overwhelmed by Martin's cock spearing him open and embarrassed to voice his desire, and Martin stops moving, pulling his head back with a look of concern. 

"What's wrong, love?" he asks, wrinkling his brow. "You can touch me however you want, Jon, I mean that."

"Okay," Jon replies, his cheeks burning up, his eyes fixed intently on Martin's shoulder. "I want to – to touch your chest? Your body is so beautiful, and I just – I want to see if I can make you squirm, too."

The punched-out sound that escapes Martin at that is answer enough, and Jon moves cautiously to rest his hands on Martin's chest, soft and covered in hair. He squeezes gently, the soft flesh giving beneath his fingers, before rubbing the pads of his thumbs over the hard brown peaks of Martin's nipples. Martin gasps and arches into the touch, inadvertently fucking deeper inside Jon at the same time.

"Oh, that's good," Jon says breathlessly. "They're sensitive, aren't they?"

"Mhm," Martin nods, looking slightly embarrassed about the fact. "Sorry, it's weird."

"No," Jon assures him, then rubs tight circles around his nipples, not pressing too hard, just enough to make Martin moan. "It's very hot," he continues. "Can you fuck me while I do this? Or is it too much?"

Martin huffs out a small breath, pulls out a bit and thrusts back in by way of answer. Jon moves unthinkingly to lick his fingertips and then keeps touching Martin, rubbing and pinching his nipples, kneading the soft swell of his chest while Martin approaches the same pace he had set before. He moans openly with every thrust, drinking in the soft whimpers and whines that escape Jon at the same time. One particularly sharp thrust knocks the wind out of Jon, and he responds with a harsh tug on Martin's nipple. 

"I'm close," Martin pants in Jon's ear. "I'm so close, Jon, fuck."

"Me too," Jon answers in a strained voice. "Martin, please."

"Keep talking to me," Martin requests. "I want to hear you say it.”

Jon squirms a bit, pushes down on Martin’s cock and clenches tight around him, digs his blunt fingernails into the skin of Martin’s plush hips. “Come for me, Martin, please,” he replies, all breathy and wanton, his eyelashes fluttering in a way that movies couldn’t recreate. “Will you pull out, come on my stomach? I want to see it.”

With how painfully turned on he is, it takes Martin only a few more deep thrusts before he’s tumbling over the edge of his orgasm. His cock throbs with it, making Jon whimper and instinctively try to clench around him as he pulls out. Martin thrusts up against Jon’s hip, his cock sliding along the swell of his curves as he starts to spill over Jon’s skin. He moans loudly, catches Jon’s gaze and watches his eyes go wide and glassy as Martin takes his cock in hand and strokes himself through his orgasm.

Mouth slack and near-constant moans escaping him, Jon reaches down between his legs to work his dick, continuing to move his hips to rub against Martin’s cock until he reaches his own peak. He comes suddenly, keening as he gushes over his fingers and falls to pieces, his inner walls clenching tight around nothing.

Martin’s body sags when he’s thoroughly wrung out, and he dives down to kiss Jon, a sudden and unabashed thing, all teeth and tongue and spit. Jon pushes up into his mouth, hands sliding up from Martin’s waist to settle on his cheeks and hold him close. 

“I love you,” he murmurs, the words muffled with his lips still pressed hard into Martin’s. “God… you’re very good at that, did you know?”

“I’ve not had many complaints,” Martin replies, smiling against Jon’s mouth before pulling away by a few centimeters. “Is it alright if we stay here for a bit? I want…” He pauses, closes his eyes and swallows his nerves for a moment – it’s silly to be shy about _anything_ when his cock is softening against Jon’s hip as they speak. The vulnerability is something else entirely, but he pushes through it to finish his thought, “I want to hold you a bit longer. Just a few minutes, then we can shower, get something to eat.”

“That sounds perfect,” Jon mumbles, half-drunk on endorphins. He lets his body go limp and then stretches out his limbs indulgently, the slight soreness making him wince before breathing a sigh of exhausted satisfaction. On an impulse, he slides his fingers through the mess of come on his stomach, lifts them to his mouth and licks them clean as Martin watches with his lips part in awe and wonder. He does it once more for good measure, if only to see Martin struggle to catch his breath at the sight, before reaching for a tissue to clean up the remainder, lying back and looking at Martin expectantly.

Rolling onto his side, Martin curls an arm around Jon’s waist, pulls him in close and holds him tight. Jon wriggles in place until he finds the optimal position, the memory of last night floating around his head as he does so. He can hear Martin’s heartbeat, faster than what he would consider normal, but steady and strong. Martin’s skin is warm on his, sticky and slick in places but comfortable enough for the short term, and even more comfortable when Martin presses a firm kiss to the top of his head, murmuring soft, sweet words against his messy hair.

“Thank you,” is the first phrase that Jon can decipher clearly from the soothing fog of Martin’s voice. “You’re so good to me, so good. I love you more than anything.”

“I love you,” Jon replies easily, then lifts Martin’s hand to brush a kiss across his knuckles. "God, this feels… it's so _right,_ being here with you. Giving myself to you."

"I know," Martin murmurs softly against Jon's skin. "It's perfect. _You're_ perfect, and I'm all yours. All yours."

Jon takes a deep, steady inhale through his nose, breathing in the scent of Martin and himself and their sweat and sex. He hugs Martin's forearm tight against his chest, twining their fingers together, and exhales on a dreamy sigh. "All yours," he echoes.


End file.
